CHAPTER VI.
Alice Merivale had "come out" with the greatest eclat into our social
circles. With wealth and beauty, grace and a certain number of showy
accomplishments, she had made conquests without the slightest effort
on her part. She was a finished musician, and had a sweet, thrilling
voice. She talked pleasant nonsense, danced beautifully, flirted very
artfully, and altogether seemed the living embodiment of every
attribute which is calculated to endear a human creature to its
fellow-men. She even gave a peculiar tone to the circle she moved in,
and it was quite a forcible guarantee that a gathering was select and
most exclusive if Alice Merivale was present.
When I returned the second time from school to prepare myself for a
public life Alice Merivale was the first to call upon me. She came in
quite unceremoniously one morning, looking very beautiful in a
sealskin mantle and hat, and declared in the prettiest manner possible
that we must be great friends; we lived so near and had known each
other for such a long time that there should not be anything like
ceremony between us.
"I shall almost need you now that Aunt Ada is married and Edith has
gone to Germany" she argued in pretty plaintiveness.
I liked this, though indeed, at the time it surprised me more than a
little. I had expected to find her developed into a feather-brained,
affected young lady who was shortsighted in a great many ways.
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